


The Proper Time

by abbichicken



Category: X-Men: First Class (2011) - Fandom
Genre: Established Relationship, M/M, Mansion Fic, Orgasm Delay/Denial, X-Men First Class Kink Meme
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-07-13
Updated: 2011-07-13
Packaged: 2017-10-21 08:54:33
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,161
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/223367
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/abbichicken/pseuds/abbichicken
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Inspired by the 'orgasm denial' prompt at 1stclass_kink, Charles makes Erik wait for <i>days</i>.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Proper Time

He'd assumed it would be easy; the attraction was so strong, so immediate, and Charles was so welcoming to his first proposition, he thought they'd be at it in moments.

But, it turned out that Charles was a lot more devious than Erik had expected. He'd imagined that Charles might enjoy mind games, given everything, but he hadn't known anyone could be this...downright fucking cruel.

"Let's not rush this," Charles said, "it's more fun if you don't...let's see how long you can wait, yes?"

Erik's mind said _Great idea!_ and Erik's self said "Did you make me think that?"

"No, no, you were already thinking that...you just didn't know it was there."

"Honestly?"

"Honestly. I can see things in your mind, Erik, desires you have that you had no idea were there. We're going to have a lot of fun together, you and I. I'm going to make you feel like you've never felt before, and you're going to discover you're capable of some things you'd no idea of."

Erik laughs. "You make it sound like quite something, getting you into bed. What kind of things?"

"I assure you, it is. And, as for what kind of thing...patience, for starters. Would you describe yourself as a patient man, Erik?"

"I like things to be done at the proper time."

"Bingo! So, no touching, of me or yourself, no orgasm, nothing, not until I say so. Not until, as you so neatly put it, the proper time."

"And you think this will do something for us?"

Charles nods. "Oh, yes."

As Erik walks away, he's hit with an image of himself, naked, looking at himself in a mirror. He whips around.

"What was that?"

"Oh, just getting started," Charles says, with a wink. "Finding my way around."

Erik wakes up sweating, heart pounding, shaking. He shifts in the bed and _fuck_ , it's wet all around him, sheets sticking at his hips as he twists about.

This is the third night in a row this has happened to him in his sleep.

They can't go on like this.

They just...can't.

Erik hasn't felt this out of control of his body since he was fifteen and it was deciding for itself what it wanted; he thought, by this age, that he had perfected the art of deciding what it wanted himself - and getting it, nine times out of ten.

This level of desire, however, was never on the cards.

He takes deep breaths, trying to clear his mind, calm his body, and get the fuck back to sleep, because it is exhausting, truly exhausting, being this physically on the edge every day, and losing every semblance of restful sleep in dreams of fucking Charles every which way his subconscious can conjure up - flashes of which come back to him at the very least appropriate moments.

Worse still, he knows Charles can access every single one of these subconscious thoughts (and, harder to fend off still, can put them in there himself - this is the only reasonable explanation, as Erik's tastes run far and wide but the things they've been doing to each other in his dreams are practically criminal...) and the bastard is using them to eke this out into something so all-consuming, Erik has close-to forgotten everything that used to mean so much to him. It's all been replaced by sweatsoaked mornings, a heavy sense of need and an aching, fucking excruciating physical pull towards a man who seems to think this is some kind of gift.

He tries to go back to sleep, but Charles is in his head, deliberate or self-induced, and he's so damn _provocative_ it's...this is no use at all. None.

Ripping the sheets away, he pulls himself into a robe and is throwing open the door to Charles' room before he even realises what he's doing.

Charles, sleeping peacefully like the angelic creature he absolutely is not, doesn't so much as flutter an eyelash, until Erik is right there in his face.

"This has to stop," he hisses, "seriously. Seriously, I can't..."

Charles opens an eye, sleepily. "Erik?"

"Fucking, move over, let me in, I can't keep not having you..."

"Oh, darling, get back to your own bed. I need my beauty sleep." Charles is overdoing it with the fey tones, and Erik very literally growls at him with frustration. Charles giggles. Giggles are mocking. Erik is not fond of mockery.

And yet, and yet, he is absolutely, utterly driven with lust at every single point of every single shred of time he has. He is convinced that a good, hard fuck over the desk will remedy all of this and they can both get on with it all and be much more effective beings and perhaps establish some kind of routine that normal people have, where things aren't witheld and everyone gets to go to sleep and not overexert themselves in the process.

"I really..." Erik stops. What's he going to say? _I really need you_? _Oh Charles, please, please..._ Oh wait, maybe... He's all but on his knees as it is, so as Charles, not a muscle moved, watches, Erik kneels and clasps his hands together.

"Please. Please Charles, just fucking stop it. I don't even need much, just...it'll be five minutes..."

"You sell yourself so well..."

Erik colours. "Oh for fuck's sake, I only -"

Charles raises a hand, dismissively.

"No, Erik. Not now."

"But you want to, you clearly want to..."

"Oh, of course. But I'd prefer to wait."

Erik frowns. "Is there something...you mean you haven't..."

"No, nothing like that. I mean...I like waiting. Or, to be more precise, I like seeing you in this level of distress. And to hit the nail on the head, I know - because don't forget, Erik, I know _everything_ about you - I know that you're enjoying this too. So if I'm having fun and you're having fun and no-one's getting hurt, tell me, why should I give in to your pleas?"

Erik is chewing at his bottom lip hard enough that he might bite through it in a moment. He is a crush of embarrassment and pain at the moment, and the very worst of it is that Charles is, as he fucking always is, absolutely right.

He debates leaving here, and going very, very far away.

"I know you won't," Charles says.

 _Get the fuck out of my head_.

 _It's so much fun in here, though_. Charles' smirk is killing him.

 _You filthy, filthy cunt._

 _You're such a charming man. Now, back to bed with you_.

Erik is livid to find that he's done exactly as Charles asked. He's so flushed and wanting now that everything hurts, everything is electric. It is, he realises, as he struggles to find any position that's comfortable, not that different from the sensation he gets when doing something particularly impressive with metal; as if every vein he has is pulsing with power and function, as if every cell in his bloodstream is tied to the object he's manipulating. He feels tied so tight to the image, the scent, the shape of Charles' existence that it's choking.

 _And you love it_.

The dark is so close and swollen around him that Erik wonders if he can identify his own thoughts any more.

He closes his eyes, and his hand slips down his body.

 _No touching!_ Charles - that's definitely Charles - snaps, in his mind, as his hand is drawn back to his side.

Erik shouts out in anger, and throws a pillow across the room, tempestously.

He passes another hour in twisting fury, before giving up and getting up.

Showering, the pulse of the water against his skin is like fire. He fists his hands into his wet hair, pulling it, tight, gritting his teeth against the soreness, just to feel something that he can stop, himself, no permission required. It's the lamest of reliefs.

Every time he thinks he might just...cheat...whenever he tries to touch himself, tries to press against...anything...Charles is there, in his head. Might as well say _you're only cheating yourself_ , Erik thinks, kicking the panelling of the hallway in frustration, heading to the kitchen.

Raven and Charles are already there, and, seeing Charles, leaning back in his chair, drinking a glass of milk (really, of all the things, Charles, stop this), Erik wishes he had Raven's power, just for a minute, so he could get the hell out of this appearance and into one that looked much more in control of itself. His clothing feels tight everywhere, everything is sore and it's...he's on the verge of _this isn't fun any more_ when Charles is there again, saying nothing, smiling ear-to-ear, and in his head, Erik hears, _come on now, calm yourself. This will be worth it_.

"Are you okay, Erik?" Raven asks, looking the picture of concern.

Erik clears his throat. "Fine. Why?"

Raven shrugs. "You look a bit...rough." She looks at Charles, then back at Erik. "Late night?"

"What do you mean?" Charles asks her, saving Erik from trying to form words, because he sounds like he's chewing gravel.

"Oh, you know. Playing chess, or something. I bet you're great for each other, as partners."

Charles raises an eyebrow.

"Chess partners," Raven says, lightly, a little bit too amused with herself.

"Shouldn't you go and get dressed?" Charles says, in lieu of "Leave, now, because I intend to fuck with Erik's mind a bit more and you're in the way, as ever."

Raven leaves, without even flouncing or anything.

Erik flicks the coffee machine on, from the other side of the kitchen, and sidles over to it, trying not to catch Charles' eye any more.

"Wondering how much more you can take?" Charles asks, pointedly, and gifts him a flash of the two of them fucking over the sink. Erik takes the vision like a punch in the gut, coughing, and holding onto the edge of the work surface.

"You'll ruin me, seriously, please, can't we just...go upstairs and..."

Charles looks at his watch.

"It's ten to seven. Come to my room at ten to seven tonight, and then, and only then, we'll do something about -" he gestures to all of Erik "this."

It is the longest twelve hours of Erik's adult life, and he's endured some very, very long hours over the years.

He attempts various distractions, including an ice bath (Charles' suggestion, absolutely useless, because it transpires that Erik finds ice incredibly stimulating for reasons neither of them are able to explain, but that both will later make use of), firing nails at a dartboard and missing so dangerously that he nearly blinds a passing Hank, and doing chinups until he falls off the bar in near-delirium.

Erik swears that this will never happen again, and that if Charles doesn't live up to his promises, if this isn't hearts and fireworks and glorious, furious fucking the like of which he's never imagined, he will set off for somewhere very, very far away immediately, and never come back.

He can feel Charles pushing into his mind throughout the day, checking up, on top of the sense that they've been connected all this time by the taut thread of _this is going to happen_.

The clock ticks, treacle-slow. 6:47...6:48...6:49...

Charles opens the door as Erik raises his fist to knock at it.

Erik's going to say something clever, figures he's earnt the moment of self-satisfaction in every way, but he doesn't get the chance, as Charles pushes him up against the wall, knocks the breath from his mouth, and kisses him, hard, on the lips.

 _Now_ , Charles says, without saying anything at all.

And, exactly then, with no spare oxygen in his lungs to gasp, no way of controlling himself left whatsoever, Erik comes in a rush so hard he's shaking, constricted like hell and pulsing wet against the fabric of his trousers, he's _clinging_ to Charles, arms wrapped tight around his back, and Charles laughs against his mouth, not unkind, just, there with him, holding him upright. Erik feels like he's he's turning inside out, like molten metal, crackling with electricity and drowning in how close he feels to Charles at this moment, as if they could be no closer, bar a couple of layers of clothing.

Charles holds him there for an amount of time that is both too long, and not long enough, and is the one who finally peels himself away, Erik falling back and buckling, sliding down against the panelling.

Charles kneels in front of him, astride him, takes up Erik's hand and places it over the front of his trousers. "Now, would you like to get your own back?" he asks, licking his lips.

"Fucking right," Erik pants, still shaking, then he squeezes just-too-hard, pulls Charles up tight to him, and tries to steal some air back direct from Charles' mouth.


End file.
